Cryptomnesia
by Redolent
Summary: Psychic? Check. Slightly ludicrous? Check. Live in a haunted house at the end of a dark street? Check. Has an annoying, but totally gorgeous, ghost apprentice called Len? Check. And finally, happen to harbour feelings for that ghost? Check. Ah, what a screwed life I lead. RinxLen.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloid, Spirited Away or Scooby-Doo._

* * *

_**Cryptomnesia**_

Psychic? Check. Slightly ludicrous? Check. Live in a haunted house at the end of a dark street? Check. Has an annoying, but totally gorgeous, ghost apprentice called Len? Check. And finally, happen to harbour feelings for that ghost? Check. Ah, what a screwed life I lead.

**Rated T; romance, supernatural, humour, etc.; Rin/Len**

'

'

'

_CHAPTER ONE_

If there is anything that I could hate most in the universe, it would have to be the time when a ghost starts shrieking in my ear while I'm having a good ol' dream. I mean, that's a great wakeup call… for a heart attack.

Yeah, well, ghosts need to respect the fact that we humans _do sleep_ at times—and that we can't be by their side, 24/7, wiping up the mess _they_ made because apparently three o'clock in the morning suits them most appropriately. Good lord—weren't they all alive once? Surely they'd have _some _manners. _Surely_—unless they left them behind in their grave, along with their common sense and decomposing body—which is a popular case amongst most dead people. To me, that isn't really a virtuous thing, _at all_.

Three o'clock in the morning—she comes; the screaming, wailing daughter-of-a-bitch—_just to tell me she liked the way I arranged the flowers around her tombstone_. Okay, okay—you're very welcome. Now calm your farm and get out of my room, or I will exorcise you.

And that's usually how I start my Mondays. Sweet, isn't it? I have my own personal alarm clocks. They're so trustworthy.

…Except, it's not a Monday.

It's a Tuesday. And you know what that means?

Absolutely nothing.

"So, where are we?" I ask Mum, staring out the window with an uninterested expression as we chug down a boulevard about as desolate as Chernobyl in our little blue Corolla. On either side of the road, there are trees, trees and more trees—as well as the odd, secluded house which looks like it's been hit by a typhoon. Ah, charming. Exactly what I felt like doing during my first week of summer vacation—chugging down the streets past old, empty cottages that look as if to house a whole family of banshees, cockroaches and dust.

Mum turns down another street—which is just as trashed as the other—and says, "Well, you know how I said your father and I bought a house…"

I look at her, adjusting my glasses slightly with one hand. "…No." Really, my parents never tell me anything. Apparently I complain every time they do—and I'm pretty sure that's because they tell me _several hours before_ it actually happens. The shit my parents do—seriously, it irks me a lot.

"Well, we bought a house," she continues, "and it's a really nice house—I think you'll like it—I mean, it has a _huge _backyard and all…" Mum turns again, quickly checking the sticky note on the middle-part of the steering wheel and slowing the car slightly to glance at the numbers of the houses we're passing. This street isn't as dead (or chaotic), as there are a few cars in driveways and a jogger or two has passed by, much to my delight. "It's a really pretty, big, white house. Apparently, it belonged to this rich family back in the day—and it's still in good condition, considering it was built ninety or so years ago."

I blanch. "_Ninety_ years ago?" Great, that makes the likelihood of screaming ghosts waking me up at three in the morning increase by thirty per cent. Older houses = more chances for people to die in them.

Mum notices my reaction. "Come on, Rin, I'm pretty sure not every old house has spirits wondering around it…" she assures with that annoying, slight tone of disbelief. No matter how many times I've come running into my parent's bedroom, bawling my eyes about ghosts in the middle of the night during my childhood, she still thinks I'm making it all up. Maybe that's because Mum is slightly atheist—_slightly_.

I scoff, pushing the spectacles back up my nose and folding my arms over my chest. "And pigs can fly." I mutter. Anyway, whose decision was it to move? It certainly wasn't mine.

She ignores my bitter remark as we pull up in front of an elegant, yet monstrous-looking mansion, mainly hidden by an overgrown garden. The only way, at first glance, of telling the house is actually _there_ is because of the large, fancy gate entrance at the front—and the crappy, tilted letterbox that has a large number '7' on the front. Now, looking around, the house is situated at the very far end of the close, far away from any other houses. Er… Now for the stereotypes, anyone?

"This is it!" Mum squeals enthusiastically, turning off the engine and clapping her hands together with glee. "Wanda gave me the key so we can go look inside and decide which room we want to be which—oh, this is so exciting!" Before I know it, she's climbing out of the car and already unhooking the gate. I can only roll my eyes and hurry after her, because there's no stopping her movement now—she's a woman on a mission. Like, _really_—what's so exciting about big, creepy houses at the end of a street? Nothing, nothing at all—yet she still is prancing up the driveway like a child on Christmas day. Seriously, if this is how I act when I'm her age, I will personally shoot myself.

The driveway is pretty long—for no good reason, obviously—and it's littered with billions of trillions of dead leaves and sticks. The tall trees loom over us, blocking out most of the sunlight with their large canopies. If I stop walking and listen for a bit, I can hear the crickets chirping nearby. In a way, I guess it's soporific—all the quiet and remoteness and stuff—but then again, I shiver at the thought of what's waiting for me inside.

When we reach the spot where we can see the whole house, Mum wets her pants. Well, not literally, but she makes a noise like she's giving birth and throws her hands up in the air, screaming, "It's _beautiful!_"

I feel mortified. Is there really a need for such melodramatic behaviour? It's _just_ a house.

Well, first of all—like Mum had mentioned—the house is white, with large windows which don't actually have a necessity to be that size. Some parts are made out of marble, other parts of the house painted a golden colour—and if I crane my neck to see around the side part, there's a fountain which has an angel statue on it—and it's peeing. Lovely. At the front, anyhow, there's a porch made of marble and cluttered with dead leaves, and a doorway which could probably allow people up to the height of two metres inside. It reminds me of the kind of houses you see in a horror movie—you know, the whole, 'perfect' house look, but then the family moves in and apparently some ghost is chilling inside, waiting to slice you to bits. _Hooray_.

Mum gallops up the stairs, straight to the front door with a goofy grin on her face. She stops and looks back over at me. "Hurry up, Rin!" she calls and her voice echoes throughout the whole expanse. Great. Let them know we're here, Mum—_sure_. I stare at her back, frowning. "Don't be that way! Seriously, this is _awesome_." Is it just me, or am I experiencing the same situation as Chihiro in _Spirited Away_? Jesus. I hope Mum doesn't turn into a pig, because god knows what I'll do. I mean, I might get hungry…

Just kidding.

Like the good daughter I am, I say nothing and trudge up onto the porch to her side with reluctance. As soon as she puts the key in the door and turns it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. Did the… did the house just _shudder_? I take a step back as I watch her disappear into the house—but I don't want to be left out here alone, so I follow in after her with haste—trying to flout the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Once I place one foot past the door and inside the mansion, I'm hit with an overwhelming stench of… bananas? Why on Earth would a house smell like bananas?

Convincing myself it could be the air freshener or something the Wanda lady sprayed, I continue after my mother, my legs trembling uncharacteristically. _Just ignore it, Rin… Just ignore it…_ I tell myself. Mum's dancing around, both hands pressed to her cheeks. "Oh gosh! It's beautiful—_beautiful! _Leon will absolutely love this!" she exclaims, squealing childishly.

That same sensation ripples through my body again and I break out in a rash of goose bumps, every hair follicle standing high and mighty. My stomach cringes and my hands grow clammy—but yet, at the same time, I feel ice cold from head to toe. In my peripheral vision, something—like a pale hand—moves the long, white curtain by a window to the side slightly, before being dropped back into place. Shi—_it_. We've got company, ladies and gentlemen.

Mum notices my eerie silence and turns, looking at me. "Rin? What's the matter, honey?" she asks, pouting.

I try to smile, despite the fact that I feel extremely _unwelcomed_ by our valet. "I-it's nothing," I squeak, gesturing my hand submissively. _It's not like I'm turning into a human cactus or anything_, I add mentally.

She tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. "What do you think? Do you not like it?"

"N-no, it's fine! It's uh… really big!" I force a shaky laugh, "I'm just… being unsolicited… by our friend…" I mention that part under my breath and she doesn't notice, luckily.

Chills run down my spine once again and I've need to get out _quick_, but it feels as if I'm frozen on the spot. Oh joy. I stand there panicking for a few moments, until finally, it feels as if someone has let the slight pressure off my shoulders—allowing me to move—but I don't go in the direction for the front door. I go in the opposite direction—the stairs—with no intention to.

I have to steady myself by placing my hand on the railing, so I don't topple over and end up rolling back down the steps. Mum's wandered off somewhere else—I think the kitchen or something—but I can still hear her wowing from the upper level. No wonder our little friend is getting a bit unhappy—she's making such a racket. Ugh. Great. Just what I need—an angry spirit to live with. _Yippee._

At the top part—the hallway, which overlooks the foyer—I'm able to get a clear view of the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It would be pretty… _if_ it wasn't covered with largish spiders and cobwebs. Ew. I shudder, swallowing hard, before continuing on.

With every step I take, it's like a hundred volts of electricity has been connected up to my body, causing shivers to run up and down my spine and my hair to rise uncharacteristically. While my hair is defying gravity, I get this magnetic tug towards a room at the very end of the hallway, like someone has wrapped an invisible lasso around my limbs and is slowly pulling me towards it. Oh my god, if this… _whatever it is_… is pulling me towards my death, I swear I will be a _very unhappy_ customer for the Grim Reaper. Shit, _shit, shit_—my legs won't stop moving. Where is my willpower when I need it?!

The end of the hallway is darkest—there are no windows or lights to illuminate my way—just the thin strip of light from underneath the far door. It's a white door—plain, not really that interesting—and as I step up to it, I can faintly hear the chords of a piano melody being recited. It's a blissful song—I haven't heard it before—and it's somewhat palliative. My fingers reach up to brush the ice-cold, tarnished handle of the door, and just like that, the melody halts abruptly on the wrong key and all the uncomfortable feelings wash off me like waves. I drop my hand from the knob like it's on fire, struck with confusion. _The hell just happened?!_ I ask myself, hastily wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts. Where did that awful sensation go? I place a hand to my head, thinking.

Well, _obviously_ the ghost—or spirit, or whatever—wants me to go here, so I shake the misperception away and resume grabbing the door handle. Like it was before, it feels frozen in my hand—hard and heavy—and it's difficult to turn, so I have to put all my weight on it. But just like someone had stepped away from the door after they've been standing on the other side to try and stop me from gaining entry, all this pressure is released and the door flies open, sending me stumbling face-first into the floorboards. I manage to lose my glasses—so now I can't see—and graze the palms of my hands and the skin on my knees. Was that chuckling I just heard? Oh, _bitch please_.

I groan, disconnecting my face from the ground and wiping away the dirt with the back of my hand. The window is wide open—well, from what _I_ can see—and it looks like it's been blowing in leaves and whatnot since forever, because the floor is absolutely _covered_ with them. I stand, patting at my clothing and wincing at the stinging on my hands. How am I going to explain this to Mum? 'Well… I tried opening this door, but this stupid ghost decided to prank me and somehow I ended up face-planting the ground.' She'd probably laugh at me for like, ten minutes.

So here starts the searching. I'm not _terribly blind_ like Velma Dinkley from _Scooby-Doo_, so I _can_ see—barely—just enough to be able to tell where my glasses are. They're five feet away from where I was previously sprawled across the floor, by the foot of some large… thingy covered by a white sheet. It looks a bit like… a grand piano? I fix my glasses on my face and scrutinise it, before lifting a corner of a sheet to reveal the fall of a piano. It's a clean, polished white—like practically everything else in this house, and I'm beginning to feel like I'm in one of those white-covered wards in horror movies—and coated with a thick layer of dust. I cough slightly—hay fever doesn't really agree with this place—and drop it back into its original position, frowning.

I have a feeling the spirit or whatever is trying to tell me something. But what…? To leave? To play the piano? Heck, I can't even find middle C—I practically _failed _music in elementary school.

"Rinny!" Mum calls from somewhere else in this ginormous mansion, "Rin, where are you~?" I sigh, picking a leaf from my hair. No use trying to solve mysteries now—Mum will get in the way—and if the ghost starts throwing things, it'll be difficult to explain.

I turn, opening my mouth to shout a reply, but come face-to-face with a boy. It's completely unexpected, so I somehow end up shrieking in response. I'm really… _terrible_… with surprises. His eyes go wide and the next minute, he's camouflaged in with the wall—gone completely transparent—and I can no longer see him. Oh look, I just scared a ghost.

It's not that much a big thing, really. Ghosts are not all, '_I will make your life misery! I will eat your soul while you're asleep!_' they're more like, '_I-I-I c-come in p-peace…?_' Because, well, _they're dead_, guys—the most they can do is like, make things levitate. _Woo_. We could probably do much more to them—like exorcise them—but I don't specialise in exorcising; that stuff is a job done by an expert. I can assure you; I am _not_ an expert. I'm a teenager. The things I specialise in? Sleeping and being a bitch.

I can hear Mum's footsteps approaching hastily up the stairs. "Rin? Rin, are you okay?" she asks, stopping in the doorway.

I swallow and nod, giving her the thumbs-up. "Just saw a big, hairy spider—no worries!" I even grin somewhat idiotically to add the cherry on top—though, I don't really need to.

She stares at me for a few moments, before nodding slowly. At that point, she goes back to her old self and notices the room, letting out a squeal. Oh god, not again. "_Wo—ow_! This room is nice, isn't it, Rin?" Mum exclaims, rushing past me, to the white blob in the middle of the room. I try not to wince in irritation—because I was _just_ about to do my business—but now she's here, and she would _probably_ go all weird if I started talking to the wall. Be Jesus.

"What's this?" she inquires, peeling back the sheet to reveal the piano. It's actually pretty… nice—I guess it gives you a nostalgic feeling (or maybe that's just me)—and it compliments pretty well with the, 'Hey, I'm a messy room with leaves and shit everywhere!' like something you'd see in a melodramatic music video. Mum screams again—and I'm about to ask, 'Is that really necessary?'—but she beats me before I can. "When I was a kid, I used to play piano. Isn't this gorgeous? It must be one of the items left behind by the Kagamine family—my god, are we lucky! Maybe you could learn to play the piano, Rin?"

I force a laugh in disbelief. "Yeah… _no_," Who were the Kagamine family, again?

Mum pouts at my blunt reply and slides onto the stool, pulling back the fall to reveal the dusty, ivory keys. "Rin, could you open the lid for me?" she asks, batting her eyelashes in a way she does to make me fall for her puppy-dog face.

Sighing, I trudge over to the side and lift the lid—it creaking open and releasing a cloud of dust into the air that just about chokes me. Still spluttering, I fondle for the lid prop and fasten the top in place. Mum claps her hands giddily, letting out another childish laugh.

"Can you even remember how to play piano?" I ask, walking back around to her side.

She shrugs. "Nope."

I'm tempted to face-palm, but I just raise one eyebrow at her, frowning. "Then… what are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to check if it's in tune," she states cheerfully, before slamming down several keys. The chord resonances in the room with an awfully bitter tone, loud and clear, and Mum screws up her face like she's tasted something pungent. "Ugh! Definitely not. I'll have to call your father's cousin around to tune it later." I don't get why she expected it to be all prepped and tuned if it's been sitting there for the last ninety or so years, but I just nod, because I don't really care. Then she jumps up from her seat and closes the fall, as well as the lid, before pulling the sheet back into place and looking at me. "Anyway, let's go look around the house together. We should decide where you want your room," Mum announces and I nod again, going along with it.

She drags me out of the room and as I look back at the room for any signs of that boy's presence, I can't help but feel some unusual wave of sadness wash over me. It isn't _my_ sadness, though—it's like the whole house is sad—like the ghost-boy… doesn't want me to leave the room.

I know I'll _definitely_ be dealing with some restless spirits when we move in.

Let's just hope not during the early hours of the morning.

/

I'm in a place—a green valley—dotted with flowers and trees and fidgety butterflies. The sun is bright and brilliant, lingering high in the cerulean sky. I lift a hand to shade my eyes, squinting at the view. The grass tickles my ankles in the light breeze and a sweet scent of nectar fills my nostrils. The feeling here… it's so… serene? Nonetheless—where exactly _am_ I?

It's that kind of that moment where I turn to my small dog and say, 'Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.' Because I have no frigging idea of what—or where—this place is. It reminds me of those ridiculous movies where the protagonist is swept away to a magical land—for example, Never-land or something—and it's too perfect to match reality. Now, all I need is dancing little elves wearing green outfits, a lost princess, an evil villain who wants to rape the princess and a script that comes from a soap opera. (God, what am I thinking?)

Someone—or something—gasps and I whip around to face a girl about my age. She's short and thin—delicate, with eyes the colour of the Caribbean ocean; framed with voluminous, dark lashes, and porcelain doll-like pale skin, decorated with freckles. Her hair is short, made up of a strange shade of gold—maybe… arylide yellow or flavescent—streaked with lighter and darker strands of blonde; probably from too much exposure to sunlight. Her rosy, pink lips are parted slightly—giving me the hint that she's the perpetrator—and I raise one eyebrow at the girl inquiringly.

To my surprise, she smiles at me. It's a really wide, pretty grin—it shows her somewhat _perfect_ teeth and her unique beauty—like she's some model for a dental advertisement. She holds out one small, delicate hand to me. "Rin… right?" she asks, in a cute, mellifluous voice. I nod, frowning in confusion. Um… am I missing something here? Because I have _no_ idea where I am, or what I'm supposed to be _doing_—and this girl… who is _she_? I feel like I've seen her before, somewhat, but where exactly? I take her hand with hesitation. "I'm… I'm Lucille. But you can just call me Lucy." she adds cheerfully.

We drop hands. "Oh… right. Nice to meet you… uh, Lucy," I state, slightly unsure of what I'm expected to say.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too." Lucille replies, before she reaches out and grasps my elbow with one hand, tugging me forward—a bit too abrupt and unexpected. "My apologies for this being all so sudden, but we haven't much time to waste," she adds carefully, dragging me through the meadow with alacrity. I say nothing; I'm too busy trying not to fall over my feet. How does she move so smoothly without tripping over? It's almost as if she's floating. "You probably won't remember any of this when you wake up; well, except for very minor details…"

She speaks really fast—I have to strain to make out what she's saying. Waking up? What does she mean I won't remember this when I 'wake up'?

Lucille looks back at me briefly. "Have you any idea why you're here?" she continues.

"N-no…" I splutter. We've slowed down—I just realised we're approaching some white gazebo in the middle of nowhere—technically, in the highest part of the valley; on a small hill. There are people—other people—sitting underneath at a table, it looks like they're having a tea party… or something?

Lucille nods. "That's alright—I wasn't expecting you to know anyway. I'll explain in a moment." I just force out a nervous laugh to save me from saying, 'Okay.' What is with this girl? Heck—does me being here have something to do with my psychic abilities? Because I have a feeling it does.

We arrive at the pagoda and Lucille pulls me up the stairs, where the conversation has died down between the other people. Is it me or are there only blonde people here? What is this, a Nazi boot camp or something? I frown, being aware of the fact that I'm blonde also.

A middle-aged woman, with long, wavy, golden hair smiles at me brilliantly. Her green eyes are most intriguing, as well as her splendour—but it feels as if her gaze is boring holes into my body. A man about the same age is seated beside her, sipping some tea. His hair is gelled back—the roots are greying slightly, but it's a light, sandy colour; not as bright and predominant as the woman's and the girl's—but he does have beautiful eyes. Standing to the side are two maids and a servant with stoic expressions. The aura here is elegant and I feel instantly like a thorn amongst the roses—because I certainly _am not_ elegant; more likely an 'elephant'. They're all dressed in summer attire—excluding the maids and one servant—and their clothing looks like something my grandmother used to wear, back in the day. Actually, speaking of clothes, what am I wearing?

I look down and instantly turn red because I'm stark naked. How the heck could I not have noticed that earlier? Jesus. That's great; I'm streaking. How mortifying.

Lucille tends to notice this and starts to laugh—and what do you know? It's a _pretty _laugh; unlike mine, which sounds like a dying zoo animal—before grabbing a light coat from one of the maids and handing it to me to wear. I hastily button it up and she turns back to the man and woman. "So, mama, papa, what do you think? Isn't she good?" She's referring to me like I'm some painting or something—is that necessary? What is the point of this, anyway?

The woman, her mother—I'm guessing—raises one eyebrow, pursing her lips in thought. "Hmm—well, she's _close_—but don't you think her hair colour is a little off? A bit… dullish?" Ouch—okay, it's fine for random people to stomp all over my ego—_sure_. Anyway, what's so wrong about my hair colour? I put a hand up to my head conscientiously, biting my lip.

Lucille's father clears his throat. "Miriam, I think it's more of a… _pale_—like a shade lighter, perhaps." he confirms. 'Miriam' nods in agreement, frowning, but says nothing more. Is it me, or are they acting unnecessarily posh?

I'm about to pop the question about why I'm actually here, but Lucille beats me to it. "Mother, it's difficult to make someone look _exactly_ like me…" she reasons, narrowing her gaze to the side and fidgeting.

Uh… wait, _what?_ Did she just say she's trying to _make_ _me_ look like _her?_ Um, okay. Is that even possible? Like… _at all?_

Well, I'm not against it or anything. She's pretty. Contrariwise, I still can't see the similarities between us. Huh.

At that moment, they all look at me spontaneously to scrutinise me once again. I take a wary step back. "Um… uh… is this like… a cult or something? Because I still don't understand why I'm here—or where I am." I state, rubbing the back of my neck apprehensively. Lucille bites her lip.

One maid steps forward and leans over to Miriam, whispering something in her ear. Miriam nods, before holding a hand up to me. "Just a moment," she says, before turning to her daughter and beckoning her daughter over, "Lucy, come here quickly, please."

Lucille leaves my side and they launch into a conversation with low voices, so low I can't hear anything they're saying. They finish and the girl nods, before her mother hands her something. Lucille meanders back to me and holds something out—a necklace made up of a dainty, golden chain and a treble clef pendant that's crested with a few diamonds (or jewels). I'm not sure if they're real or not. I stare at it with one eyebrow raised.

"It's your— er, it's for you." she points out, smiling uneasily. Then she pushes it into my hands. "Please take good care of it."

I feel the foreign, cold object in my hands. "What— what's this for?" I ask anxiously, running a finger over the surface of the treble.

Lucille clears her throat, scratching her head. "Well, you wear it…" she starts and I look at her, frowning; so she hesitates. "It— um, you'll figure it out soon. I can't explain now, because we are running short of time—sorry." She smiles apologetically, pushes my hands to my chest and nods, before looking back at her parents. They both seem to nod, too, like they're giving a 'signal' or something.

Then she shoves me off the gazebo.

I did not expect _that_.

I let out a squeal of revelation and shut my eyes, bracing myself for the impact of the ground. But I don't hit the ground—instead; I just keep _falling _and _falling _and _falling_—unstoppably, the wind whipping my hair around my face crazily. I open one eye in question, to see that I've fallen into _a hole_, and in the distance, I can see the gazebo, and Lucille, the maids, servant and her parents all watching me fall to my impendent… death?

The next minute, I am slamming butt-first into the floorboards of my bedroom, drowning in my bed sheets. W-what? What in the world—

I groan, sitting up, my head and backside aching from the impact. Wait—if my bed's over by the wall, then how am I on the other side of the room? I shake my head. Jesus. Maybe I _am_ really going insane, with all this ghost crap. As I go to untangle myself from the sheets, something falls out from them—something hard—that clatters against the floor and grabs my attention. At first glimpse, it glitters in the faint moonlight seeping through the cracks in my blinds. I crawl over to it, picking it up.

In the palm of my hand is something that makes my stomach drop. A necklace? Where on Earth did that come from? I didn't know I owned a treble clef necklace…

Confused, I stand and sigh, fixing my hair. I place the necklace on my duchess—probably to remind myself to look at it later—before turning back to my bed and moaning at the thought of having to remake it at five in the morning. I swear—whatever dream I was having, it must have been _crazy_.

That's how I start my Friday morning—the third week of summer vacation—and the last sleep in our old house, before we officially finish moving.

Hello, creepy haunted house that reminds me of a gigantic, white custodial cell. Goodbye home, where the only unwanted ghosts are the ones that wake me up screaming.

Ugh.

Am I the only one who's not looking forward to a new start?

* * *

_Please critique; thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to those who had reviewed/faved/followed this story. Here's the (very) procrastinated next chapter! I kind of forgot my login so this came later than expected..._

* * *

_CHAPTER TWO_

I feel rather pissed.

I mean, if _your_ parents are cranking 200-year-old folk songs or god-knows-whatever-but-they-sound-_terrible_ at full volume and singing them on the way to the house of awaiting death, then you would be _pretty _pissed too. Or maybe I'm just being selfish.

Sailfish.

What.

Anyway, so, I'm not looking forward to this. Not to mention, I have this annoying, niggling feeling in the back of my mind which is just like, 'Uh, well, hey Rin, I think you're forgetting something.' Which is totally, totally true, because I _swear_ I _am_ forgetting something. Something that's rather important. It's _killing_ me, along with all this ancient music jumping around in my head and the car jerking as we run over the potholes in the middle of the road. In fact, I feel like I could be sick. Ugh.

I still can't figure out where that random necklace came from. It must have fallen out of the sky or whatever. But it's creepy. I mean, _really_ creepy. It feels as if it's staring at me through my Hello Kitty bag. It's a _necklace_, for Christ's sake! Necklaces don't have _eyes_. Well, I sure hope not. That'll blow a lot of people's minds. Like, mine.

Maybe I should throw the necklace out the window. God knows where it came from. It might be cursed.

Though, I'm not one to believe in witches. Or magic. Or anything stupid like that.

So I'm probably just being histrionic, as usual.

Before I actually register it, we're pulling up into the super-duper-long driveway, and Mum starts jumping up and down in her seat like she hasn't seen it in a month. I'm pretty sure she saw it just yesterday—I mean, she and Dad kept nagging me about coming with them, and I was just like, 'No. No thank you.' (I made up the excuse that I had homework to do. It works every time.)

"So, we can like, paint your room red or whatever—" Mum's garbling to me as I'm lugging my twenty-hundred suitcases/box-things to the front door. Be Jesus. I seriously had no frakking idea that I had so many… _clothes_. I mean, I don't even _wear_ half of them anymore. Mainly because half of them are ugly, frilly dresses a princess would wear, and frilly dresses are just not my thing. I like gigantic sweaters—and things that don't reveal my lanky, pale and unpleasant limbs.

It's a pity the ratio of hotness overrides coldness in this dingy city. Our winter is like, New York's summer or whatever. Or spring. I don't know. So I have to wear skimpy singlets and short-shorts often, and it's awful.

"Orange," I quickly correct Mum, because red reminds me of blood and death.

Orange reminds me of nothing.

Oh, well, food and sunsets, probably.

"Yeah, well, we'll paint your room orange, and then we'll hang up those lovely pictures I bought you for Christmas. You know those flower ones? Yeah, those ones." I don't say anything, so she just keeps rambling. "And I can arrange piano lessons for you, Rin, so then you can play Christmas carols and Happy Birthday… and the Entertainer… and so on…"

Ew. Piano lessons. _Ew_.

I practically tune out, then, because I start to get those weird _vibes_ again as Dad unlocks the front door. The house interior has changed slightly—less dusty and there's more furniture—and I can tell Casper-the-friendly-dude-ghost isn't very happy about the change, because the atmosphere inside the house is… _miserable_.

Like he's _sulking_.

My God. Parents, what have you done?

"Rin—_Rin_—hey, are you listening to me?" Mum's waving her hand around frantically in my face, because I just dozed off a little. I blink and scowl, so she continues blabbing, "Take your things up to your room and then come down for lunch, okay? We'll be eating in the backyard, in that pretty gazebo by the trees."

_Gazebo? _We have a _gazebo?_ That's uh… somehow eerie and nostalgic… for no reason at all.

I just nod and heave my luggage up the never-ending staircase, towards the never-ending hallway, in which my bedroom is situated across the hall from the piano room. I swear to God, if that ghost starts playing Fur Elise during early hours of the morning, I won't hesitate to chuck a fit.

The only upside to my room is that it's big—_really_ big—and it overlooks the backyard, which is _colossal_ and has like, a bazillion flowers growing everywhere. I mean, I like flowers. Flowers are pretty… except for when they give me hay-fever. That stuff _sucks_. Plus, we basically house a whole butterfly sanctuary, because as soon as I step outside, I'm attacked by about fifteen billion Ulysses and god-knows-what other insects. This place is slightly unrealistic. Seriously, _butterflies?_ Jesus.

Not to mention, the room has its own bathroom—which is _amazing_.

As I'm stumbling down the hallway, I pass a largish picture frame propped up against the wall, half-covered by a dusty white sheet that looks as if it could be growing _mould_ on it. Staring back at me, from the half-revealed image, is a boy and a girl that look… _identical_, almost.

Well, except for the fact that they have… different body parts and slightly different features or whatever.

Something strange catches my eye, and I quickly drop my bags and whatnot, crouching down to its level to get a better view of the picture. Besides the intimidatingly annoying stoic expressions on their faces, they're both really attractive—both with perfectly pale skin, and exotic, blue eyes. I can't help but feel the girl _and_ boy are both _familiar_, but hell, I don't remember meeting anyone who looks like them. Except, that's not what caught my eye.

It's their necklaces.

Automatically, I scramble to find my own, nearly emptying the whole bag into the hallway. I pray to god my parents don't come up the stairs, because they would clearly think I'm insane and would ask, "_What on Earth are you doing, Rin?!_" I mean, how would you react if your daughter was in the hallway, kneeling down in amongst clothes?

Honestly, I don't know either… because, well, _yeah._

I find the necklace at the bottom of my bag and hastily rip it out, my heart pounding and fingers trembling. This is _scary_. This is freaking… _terrifying_. Oh my God. I press my very own necklace up beside the pendant the girl is wearing in the picture.

My mouth goes slack.

_Seriously?_ I can't have the exact same necklace as the girl in the picture. I _can't_. No, no, no, _no_. That's just… that's just _way_ too creepy. I mean, how? How could I even-?

I hear footsteps, so I immediately straighten up and start shoving things back into my bag. Just as I'm zipping—or struggling to zip—the satchel back up, Dad walks into sight. "Rin, what are you doing on the floor?" he asks, before looking at the picture beside me, "Oh, what's that?"

"I—um, er…" I stammer, "It's um… a picture…?" Oh yes, Rin, it's a _picture_. I think we've established that already with our eyes by now.

Dad walks over, lifting up the sheet to reveal two adults with flaxen hair and posh outfits. "Oh, oh—it's the Kagamine family portrait. You know, the big, rich family that used to own this place? That's them," he states. "They had a son and a daughter—fraternal twins, I think. They were well-known for their musical talent and intelligence. Both of their children exceeded."

Well, that explains the necklaces. Even the boy is wearing a musical-related-thingy.

_Thingy_.

I really need to listen more at school.

"Oh," is all I can say.

He looks at me for a few moments, before shrugging and ruffling my hair. "Hurry up, kiddo, and put your stuff away so we can eat. I bet your mother is waiting." And then he walks off, in this immensely good mood that takes me off-guard.

I have a strange feeling the boy in the portrait is my little friend.

I mean, _dead _friend.

Jesus. This is going to be fun.

_Not._

/

I emerge from the water, rasping for air.

The only _good_ thing about the bathroom is that they have a bathtub, in which, we didn't have back home. And you know what? Bathtubs are _awesome_. I went to the Great Barrier Reef and back, and I swam with the mermaids… and cool other shindig like that. I'm kidding. But you get the idea.

I push back my hair from my eyes and just lay on my back, staring at the intimidating crack in the ceiling. Since the electrician is just about as slow as a turtle, not all the lights in the house are connected to a power source, thus resulting in me having to take a bath in candlelight. Not that I don't like it though—I mean, it's kind of… _relaxing_… and I feel like I'm from the 1800s or something where they didn't have electricity. Or lights. My room, unfortunately, has no working lights either. The only working lights are in the kitchen—well, practically all of downstairs. So I have to walk around carrying a candle in a jar like a ghoul. I'm pretty sure this house exceeds all levels of scary.

I mean, it _is_ really scary at night. It's eerily quiet—since the TV or any noise-making device isn't connected up yet—and the house creaks a lot, because it's old, which is… you know, creepy. Not to mention, the wind is loud and keeps rattling the windows and crap. I can only wonder how the heck I'll be able to sleep tonight. Insert mental shudder _here_.

And I'm curious to know where ghost-boy is. Maybe I frightened him the last time I came here and he just wants to continue rolling in his dead, self-pity and being a ghost—which is fine by me, as long as he doesn't wreak havoc or whatever.

Psh, dead people. They're so dramatic.

The sucking noise of the plug in the bathtub makes me jump as I wrap my towel around my chest. Jesus, I'm shaking like a pair of maracas.

So yes, I have to admit; maybe I am _slightly_ freaked out by this house. I mean, creepy, old houses and me? _No_.

I pick up my candle; put my glasses back on and shuffle into my room, wiping myself dry in the meantime. Moonlight spills through my window, bathing the room in a faint light, giving it a majestic feeling. I place the candle aside and rip off my towel. Hey, I never said I had anything against walking around naked, despite the house maybe being haunted by ghosts.

_Guys_, I mean, they're dead. What harm could they do? _None._

I grab my awesome, sheep-themed pyjamas and start dressing myself. Just as I'm pulling the shirt over my head, I turn around and freeze, because guess who's there, chilling on my bed?

You guessed right.

The infamous ghost-boy—aka, as I had noticed, the boy from the portrait.

Oh God. He was watching me change. I mean, like, _seriously_. He's a _guy_—a _dead_ guy—and he was watching me change. _That_ makes me slightly a little pissed. Ghosts who _watch_ people change _purposely_, when they're of the opposite gender, make me _furious_.

He's sitting there, looking at me with a somewhat bewildered look on his face.

_Bewildered_. I mean, what? Are my boobs too small for his liking? Psh, I'm _sorry _my hormones are messed up, then.

Pervert.

The boy stands slowly, his eyes immediately connecting with mine. There's something strange about his expression though. Sadness? Shock? I don't even know. I'm about to shout my fury at him, but then…

Wow.

He is really cute. Like, _really_, really cute.

I immediately blush instead. See? I told you my hormones are messed up.

Anyway, ghost-boy is somewhat amazingly attractive. And it's slightly scary. Usually the ghosts I meet aren't that pretty, but… he totally exceeds all. Like, he could be a model or something. Seriously, despite him being dead and pale and all, he still manages to have _awesome_ eyes. As well as these soft, golden locks that fall around his face perfectly, and just… _Jesus._ He's fucking attractive. Okay, I said it. I think I would jump this guy if he wasn't dead.

(Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration… so what?)

Then he opens his mouth and says, "Lucille?"

Oh, Lucille.

Wait, _what?_ Lucille—Lucille, _what?_ Who the fudge is Lucille? I take a step back, back into my stack of boxes sitting in the corner. He starts to reach out a slender hand, in which I lean away from, slightly startled. The hell does he think he's doing? "Lucille." The word spills from his mouth again, but with more desperation and emotion that it practically smacks me in the face and knocks me out right there. It's swirling with hurt, fear, confusion, _affection_—god, I'm so irresolute. Maybe Lucille was like, the chick he was betrothed to when he was alive or whatever. I don't know.

"It can't be," he mutters, his voice cracking. "It can't be…"

His hands—cold and tingly—press up against my face and I fret. I mean, ghosts touching me with somewhat affection? _That_ exceeds my rules and regulations on _so_ many levels.

"Uh," I say. "Uh, I think you're confused—my name is Rin. Who is Lucille? And do you mind not groping my face? We just met. This is a little creepy, dude."

He drops his hands and steps back like I'm on fire. Then he openly looks me up and down, and his eyes fall on the necklace around my neck. "If you are not Lucille, then how do you have her necklace?" he asks me, a strange tone in his voice.

I look at the necklace. Oh. So, Lucille is his twin, I'm guessing? Right. Definitely not his wife or concubine or anything. I don't think they really did _sibling_ marriage like, 90 years ago. If they did—that would be one screwed up family. "Oh, this?" I laugh nervously. "It fell out of the sheets of my bed this morning." I doubt he'd believe me, but it _did_.

Lucille's-twin-dead-brother-whose-name-I-have-not- yet-discovered stares at me like I'm crazy. "Is that 21st century lingo for something?"

"I'm being dead serious—it literally fell out of my bed sheets," I tell him. "Do you want it back? I don't really know why I have it anyway." I unlatch the necklace and hold it out to him. He eyes it like a cancer. And then he eyes me like a cancer. Actually, he looks rather hurt. Then he turns around and starts walking—uh, 'floating' off.

"Wait," I say. "So you're just going to leave? You're not going to scream and throw things and tell me to send a letter of regret to your great uncle's son's daughter's cousin's baby? You're not going to even tell me your name?"

Ghost-boy stops just before the wall and looks back at me through these dark, long lashes which succeed in making him deliciously awesome in which I believe my hormones are beginning to crush on. "Selfish humans are not worth my despicable time," he states, before dematerialising.

Oh great. He called me selfish. Rin: 0, Sexy Ghost: 1.

/

"Rin," someone's hissing. "Rin."

I roll over, stuffing my head further into the pillow. Mum's probably trying to wake me up at 6:30 to get me to have a 'nice, family breakfast' with Dad before he goes to work. Sorry, I refuse to get up when I would rather sleep. Thank you, and goodbye.

"_LUCILLE!_"

Oh. It's not Mum. Now I wish it was.

I disconnect my face from the pillow and turn to glare at ghost-boy who has decided to wake me before the sun has risen. I'm placing my bid on two in the morning. "What does the mannerless ghost want of a selfish human at this hour of the morning?" I grunt.

He stares at me. "My name is Len."

"Oh, thank you for letting me know that _while I was sleeping_," I snap. Then I pull the covers over my head and try to go back to sleep. But apparently sleep rules out as a thing for 'Len', because he crawls onto my bed and starts saying my name again—directly into my ear. Finally, I cave, and rip the covers off the top half of my body, my hand going directly through his face in the process. He's bent over me, expression solemn. "What. Do. You. _Want?_"

Len frowns. "Forgive me for being so rude earlier," he says.

"You don't need to apologise. I already know I'm selfish and I'm human," I respond dryly, sitting up and yawning. He leans back, sliding off the bed to resume standing beside it.

He presses his lips together, ignoring my witty answer. "I was a little shaken. You look almost like my sister, Lucille, and that caught me off-guard. I'm very sorry." He reaches up to his neck to pull out from his clothing an identical necklace to the one in the picture outside. "And you also have the same necklace as her—in which, was from a set that our father had gotten made especially for her and I. I'm unsure of how you've gotten a hold of the exact same thing, as the necklaces were made only once."

"Oh," I say.

Len tucks his necklace back into his shirt and sits on the edge of my bed. "Possibly Lucille had sold it before she died and that's how it somehow ended up in your hands—I would not be surprised," he murmurs. "This is just all very shell-shocking to me."

"Oh," I repeat. I really can't say much to this.

"I am also very confused as you are the first human who could see me. Is this not new for you? You don't seem very alarmed to be conversing with a dead person," he continues. "Your name is Rin, am I right? Can I call you that? Or do you prefer being called something else?"

"I've been able to see the unseeable all my life; so I guess seeing you isn't a big thing for me. And yes, my name is Rin. Just call me Rin."

He smiles—which shocks me, because he has this _gorgeous_ smile that basically makes the whole room glow. Dead people don't usually smile. But that's because they're dead and they don't really have many reasons to. "Okay—Rin it is. It's nice to meet you. Just call me Len."

"Nice to meet you, too, Len," I mumble. I go to hop underneath the covers, feeling his eyes follow me down, and I feel he's waiting for me to say something else. "So, is that all you wanted to talk about? Do you need help or anything? A special favour?"

Len's silent for a bit. "Would your space feel invaded if I were to stay here for now? I feel relaxed being near you. It must be because you remind me of Lucille in some way—and that is just…" he trails off, averting his gaze to the ground. "I feel as if she is really here."

Dead people are such awkward creepers. Basically he just said, 'Can I stare at you all night? Because you look like my sister and I have a fetish with her.' But whatever—as long as he doesn't wake me up again. "Sure," I say tiredly. "Just don't interrupt my sleep—well, unless the house is burning down."

I hear his sound of agreement, but after a few moments he silence, he says, "Rin?"

"Mmhmm?" This better be the last interruption.

"Sorry for tripping you when you came here for the first time. I thought it was that conceited red-headed woman again who always fills my home with her disgusting scent of perfume." He must be talking about Wanda. And so he _was_ standing behind that door. That bastard! That fall actually hurt. But whatever—I'm too tired to get angry.

I exhale. "Oh my God. Goodnight, Len," I grumble, pulling the cover over my head.

"Goodnight," he says back.

I close my eyes, trying to forget there's this attractive, weird, sister-obsessed dead guy watching me.

/

I think I fall asleep, because I wake up and it's morning, and Len is no longer sitting on my bed staring at me, and I can hear Mum singing downstairs. She really needs to keep it down sometimes. It's not like she's bad at singing, but I'm trying to _sleep_ here.

Just as I peel back the sheets, Len materialises in the corner of my room and nearly gives me goddamn heart attack. "Good morning," he says automatically.

"Christ!" I hiss. "Don't do that so suddenly. It freaks me out. Normal people knock before entering."

Len bites his lip apprehensively. "I'm sorry," he apologises. "I'll try to 'knock' before I 'enter'."

I roll my eyes at him and sigh, climbing out of bed. While yawning, I make my way towards the bathroom, and Len follows closely behind me like a shadow. I stop just before the doorway. "So…" I say, trying to give the hint that I want to be alone. He looks at me blankly. Okay, so, no hint then. "I'm going to go urinate in the 'chamber pot', so if you'll please not follow me into the bathroom…?"

He awkwardly goes, "Oh." and then walks back to my bed and sits—and just right now, I could imagine dog ears and a tail on him, and his tail wagging expectantly. He reminds me of a puppy, okay? I must've laughed or something because he then asks, "What?"

"Nothing," I reply coolly, before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me.

When I come back out, Len's still there—imaginary puppy tail still wagging. I head downstairs for breakfast with Len hot on my trails. All of a sudden, the ghost who called me 'selfish human' is now following me around like his life—uh, death—depends on it. Cute. It's actually slowly starting to get a little scary. Especially since he keeps remarking how much I look like his sister. It's like he's in love with her—and thinking about that grosses me out a bit.

I'm sure he's just a very, very loyal brother. Very, very, _very_.

Mum's at the table reading the newspaper, singing along to the radio at the same time. "Morning Rinny!" she exclaims cheerfully as I shuffle past to grab the box of cereal. "How was your sleep?"

"I wasn't woken up by screaming ghosts this time," I remark sarcastically. Len raises his eyebrows questionably, as if to say, 'Screaming ghosts?'

She ignores the sarcasm, as usual. "See—I told you there weren't going to be any spirits or whatever they are here!"

Len then frowns.

I cough loudly and wink at Len, who gives me a confused expression in return. "Sorry, what? I couldn't hear you over the ghost next to me. We're having a _great_ conversation."

He opens his mouth. "I wasn't saying anything—"

Mum cuts Len off. "Har-de-har-har, Rin," she drawls. "You have me in hysterics."

"No—seriously, his name is Len and he's booming with words. Aren't you, Len?" Len just looks at me like I'm mildly crazy. He couldn't be more correct. "See? He just said he totally is. You should meet him sometime, Mum."

Finally, Mum turns to me and sighs. "Rin—you know I still find it hard to believe you can see the dead…" Oh no, hear she goes with the half-hour lecture about her not believing in this stuff. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this. She always indirectly threatens to take me to a doctor to get me checked out for something like schizophrenia—but we all know she never will, because I know she kind of believes I _can_ see dead people. Mainly because there has been a history of mediums in Dad's side of the family—but she still likes to walk around with her head high, saying all of it is a bunch of 'poppycock'.

I exhale diffidently and shove a spoonful of cereal to my mouth, letting it all tune out. Len's just giving me these flummoxed expressions because he's listening to her speech while looking at my unbothered reaction as she drawls on about how ghosts don't exist and stuff when he's clearly _there _and I can actually see him.

I finish my cereal and dump the bowl into the sink, cutting Mum off in the middle of a sentence about imaginary friends and hallucinations. "I'm going to go perform exorcisms and hang dream catchers in my room, now, so if you'll please excuse me," I announce satirically, heading back to the stairs.

"Rin! Don't leave me while I'm still talking to you—" I don't hear what else she has to say, because I stop listening then.

Once we get to my room, Len looks at me and states, "You should probably listen to your mother."

I snort. "And what—fall asleep? I've heard that same conversation so many times I could recite it off by heart. In terms of beliefs, Len, she and I don't agree," I explain, digging around my room for some clean clothes. I still haven't finished unpacking exactly. There are still boxes and half a suitcase waiting to be dissected—but I don't think I can unpack with Len around—especially when I find something awkward like a tampon or underwear. There are some things ghosts should never see.

Len grinds his teeth, but has nothing else to say. I find some clothes and head off to the bathroom. "I'm going to go get changed and clean my teeth," I tell him over my shoulder as I start to walk into the bathroom.

"Rin," he says quickly.

I pause, sticking my head out the door. "Yes?"

"Do you believe in one's soul being reincarnated?" he asks.

Uh, okay. Random question time. "Um… I don't know. I've never really thought about that. Why?"

He blinks and shrugs. "No reason."

But the thing is, whenever someone says 'no reason', there usually is a reason and they just don't want to say it.

/

I come out and Len's not there, so I do a bit more unpacking to pass the time. And then, when I get bored, I decide to go exploring.

I go down to the garden—the gazebo is really nice, actually. White and decorated with intricate designs, and the way it just kind of belongs with the scenery is cool. For some reason it's just familiar to me, I don't know why—but I'm probably just being weird again.

I actually think this place is pretty beautiful—and trying to imagine it 90 years ago; it would've been just as nice. Behind the gazebo are these big, canopying trees—and I think further past there, there's a creek, because I can hear water rushing. I can understand why Mum and Dad chose this place. It isn't as hectic as old home. To be honest, this place is kind of growing on me. And I think Len has something to do with it.

I'm curious to know Len's past; and why he died so young—or how, anyway. Did he get seriously ill? They did die much easier back then because of all the lack of medicine and hygiene and stuff like that. But Len's family seemed pretty high-class and clean—so I guess it might not be illness. It could've been murder somehow, even—a jealous rival trying to strike back? It's pretty weird. I'm also curious to know why he hasn't technically 'passed-over'—you know, gone to his next life or to heaven or hell or wherever the heck you go after you die—because it's not like he's one of the screaming ghosts or the miserable ghosts. He seems pretty _chill_, in fact. It's a little weird. But I don't know how to exactly pop the question without making him get all touchy on the subject—I mean, some ghosts close up like clams when you ask them about their past or anything about them—and I don't know how Len would take it.

While I'm sitting in the gazebo watching some butterflies battle nearby, I feel Len's presence and he walks into my line of vision and sits down in the chair across from me. He follows my gaze and watches the butterflies quietly.

One thing that's interesting about ghosts is how you can tell them apart from humans. You see, they kind of 'glow' like dim street lamps—but it's more noticeable in the night. They fade around the sides a little—so they're not 'sharp' and as high definition as a normal human. Plus, they're not exactly opaque—if there's light behind them, you can see right through to the other side. And the way ghosts move is more gracefully—floating almost, like you see in movies; even though they usually keep their feet on the ground. Though, the rest of their movement is quite awkward and not really lifelike, because they don't blink or inhale for air or anything. Right now, I notice Len does look a little realistic compared to other ghosts, just sitting there kind of 'humanly'—well, but the part that I can see straight through to the house behind him—but he really does look more 'alive', or maybe it's just the lighting.

I decide to strike a conversation, because I am one to really hate awkward silences. "Beautiful, isn't it?" I ask quietly.

Len moves his head slightly to look at me and smile. "It is," he agrees. "But I see the same thing every day—and it becomes less and less intriguing as you go on."

"You don't see this much in the city," I explain. "Just cars and tall buildings and pollution—it's kind of sad, really."

"I would like to go to the city someday to see how much it's changed," Len muses. "I guess I could go now but I just don't understand the idea of going alone, and when no one can even see you."

I sigh. "Maybe you can come with me when my school starts up again. I'm sure you'll love listening to my mathematics teacher drone on and on for an hour about how wonderful algebraic expressions are." Len just laughs. "I'm being honest—it's absolutely life-changing," I add, mock-serious. "Now I can expand three factors. Can you do that, Len?"

He says slowly, "One plus one equals two…"

"Don't I wish it _was_ that," I say, exasperated.

Len shakes his head and just smiles all the way through. "I'm sure it's not _that_ bad," he tells me.

"Remind me to find my math textbook later," I point out. "Then we can decide how bad it is." Len just shakes his head again and turns away to look back out of the gazebo. I look away myself and chew my lip, contemplating whether I should ask about his death or not. Or about anything—I still don't even know much about him. I decide to ask an easy, less-privacy-invading question. "So, how old were you when you died?"

Len doesn't answer for a bit—and I worry whether I've just somehow managed to invade his privacy anyway. "I was…" He pauses to think, "About sixteen, I think. How old are you?"

"Oh, um—fifteen," I reply. He's older than me. Well—okay, he's _way_ older than me—but whatever. "Sixteen is a pretty sucky age to die."

He hums in response. "I suppose. At least I can look good forever though, right?" He looks at me and grins cheekily.

Oh, so he knows he's attractive. How adorable. "Please," I say. "Don't tell me you killed yourself to be sixteen forever." I said this as a joke, but Len seems to go eerily quiet after that. I have a feeling… he really _did_ kill himself. Otherwise he would have shot back a witty, 90 year old answer. So I quickly murmur, "Sorry—did that hit a soft spot?"

I look at him and he's looking at me strangely. "No—I mean, yes—but it's okay. It's not a big secret. I just—I certainly did not kill myself just to be sixteen forever. I didn't even know I would end up… like this. Stuck."

"I'm sorry," I squeak. "It must suck a lot. You wanted to die to get out of this place, didn't you? But you couldn't."

He closes his eyes. "I don't mind being… here, still. I wanted to die for a lot of things, but it's not like I wanted to not…" He stops speaking, his eyebrows furrowing. "I am very afraid that if I let go of here, that I will go to a place where they will make me suffer for my sins, forever."

"Oh." That makes sense. He's scared of passing over because he thinks he'll be shoved into the pits of hell to burn and be tortured for eternity. "Well, from my experience as a psychic person who sees the dead, I honestly can't say whether there's a heaven or a hell or a rebirth once you—you know, 'pass-over'—because no one has ever come back to say it. But to be honest, I don't think there's a hell waiting for anyone. I just think there's a place we all go when we die and we're satisfied, and in that place we can choose to stay or, if we're still game enough to give life's roulette another go, to move on to something new."

Len opens his eyes again to look at me—and I see this look of misery deep in them. I see fear. I see guilt. "I'm glad you think that way," he utters. "But you haven't lived my life and done the things I did to feel the way I feel."

Then he's gone.


End file.
